A table.

I have a dining table. For the first time EVER, our family eats at a beautiful, hammered Indian Rosewood dining table. Not the tiny, slatted patio table from IKEA that we used for an eternity. The table that our dogs loved and our floor hated, because every last crumb would eventually make it's way down to the floor. The table that taught my dog to stick his long tongue up through the slats, and knock over a tumbler full of milk, so he could lap it up vigorously off the floor. The table that I got so sick of trying to wipe down nightly, only to see all of the mess fall down onto the freshly mopped floor, that I actually began ritualistically hosing it down in the back yard. I don't know which is more pathetic, the hosing down of the table, or the fact that my kids ate at a table that was so slight, I could easily lug it around our home TO hose down. That awful slatted patio table was so small that only the kids could fit at it. The Soldier and I would sit on the sofa, or even better, hover over the kitchen counter to scarf down our meals. It was a sight to behold.

The goings on at the table had a very anarchistic, Lord of the Flies sort of feel, with the kids policing themselves, and disregarding all manners that have been learned. We parents would occasionally fling some guidance in their direction "don't use your brother's ketchup", "say please", "make sure your silverware doesn't fall between the slats" "watch out for the dog", etc, etc, but it generally fell on deaf ears. We couldn't lead by example, so it all felt rather hypocritical. It was sad indeed. Eventually, it became too much to bear, and with our tax return windfall, we finally bit the bullet. I picked out a huge, beautiful, rustic dining table, with two looooooong matching benches. The kind of table that makes you long for a home cooked thanksgiving dinner, or a lazy sunday brunch. The kind of table that begs for a loaf of crusty homemade bread, and a fresh picked bunch of wildflowers.

My mom went with me to World Market to pick up the table and benches, and I must confess, I was so overcome with excitement that I worked myself up into a killer migraine. It was just too much for my patio-slat table mind to grasp. I was so sure that this elusive dream of a table would never come to fruition. Once we were driving from the parking lot, with my beautiful table and benches loaded up in the Bronco, I casually mentioned that if we were involved in a car accident on the way home, and I never lived to see my table put to good use, I would like to be laid out like Snow White, upon my table, at my visitation, with my family surrounding me on the benches. My mom thought it was a horrid idea, and assured me I would indeed live to see my table in my home.

When I walked through the front door, the kids yelled, and laughed, and excitedly climbed over the HUGE, cardboard covered table top, peering through any crack in the wrapping they could find. It was a torturous 24 hours before my table was unwrapped and up and running. I Old Englished it from top to bottom, not necessarily because it needed it, but because I wanted to. The smell of rosewood and polish was intoxicating, and I ran to my cupboard and set out a pale green vase, and stuffed it full of bougeainvilla, then placed two cherished items upon it's lovely surface; a little bird topped ceramic sugar bowl from my husband, and an adorable little coffee mug from my sister. Then, we all sat at the table and every last one of us FIT! The dogs were sligtly bewildered, how were they supposed to knock over milk on this strange new table, there were no slats??!! I'm happy to say the table has been used regularly now for a few months, and the children are again relatively polite, and well-mannered, and the dinnertime conversation is entertaining to a degree I had never imagined! I look forward to our meals now, as do the children. Don't take your dining table for granted! Sit down for a home cooked meal with your kids, and relish the warmth, conversation, and good food...